


Pak

by cable69



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 02:13:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5649886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cable69/pseuds/cable69
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pak, n. The act or an instance of losing; the condition of being deprived or bereaved of something or someone. Standard translation: loss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pak

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on ff.net; unedited

Nyota had visited Vulcan enough times to know that the color was wrong.

She could taste the fragility in the air. Under her heels, the dirt crumbled away, ceasing its shape with the smallest tip of wind. The mountains, far off, looked shattered. The scrub bushes flickered, brown.

She ran the earth through her fingers, bending down and exposing her neck to the too-small sun. Particles of sand jittered in her palm, then flicked away.

Vulcan was a dull red; rust, zhar. Parts of its mountains and valleys were darker, ug’yon-kur or yon-zhar-kur. But this planet was a paler place. The sand was simply kin-kur, ram. There were yellows and soft oranges. Vulcan was a raw place; exposed, unlike its people. But this was swathed in bandages. Thin ones, ones that blood leaked through.

The diplomatic contingent was murmuring in Ta’el Vulcan, a high language Nyota had no functional knowledge of since it was not taught to non-Vulcans. Spock, once, had mentioned that he did not speak it very well since he was half-Vulcan and only one parent had been able to instruct him in it. He was holding his own with the contingent, though, as far as Nyota could tell. They were behind the glass, within the beam shelter, their faces distorted appropriately.

Spock turned away after a while, and Nyota dusted off her hands as she heard the very faint noise of the pneumatic door. Spock stepped out of the shelter, eyes staring off at the mountains. He looked like a mannequin for a moment. His formal uniform was too shiny, and there was a plastic sheen of sweat on his ears.

That was another thing. The clouds of Vulcan weren’t like this. The clouds of Vulcan were high and streaked, and these were middle-low, lumpy, giant’s thick fingers reaching to the ground. Not the impressive archways, the strong traces that hated to fade, although fade they always did. 

She said, “Did you want me to leave? I thought I should.”

“Oh,” he said, looking at her. “Yes. Thank you. I am sorry that you felt you needed to leave. But I did appreciate it.” He glanced back at the shelter, black eyes a brief flicker. “I am also sorry that Vulcans are… uncomfortable, right now.”

“Yes,” said Nyota, the unspoken “I understand” clear in her voice. She didn’t actually understand, of course (Earth being gone, that was unthinkable, unknowable), but she thought she could.

“They are sending for the car. They did not expect us until later.”

“Yes, I noticed the captain was in a hurry.” Nyota smiled a little. “He probably has a hot date.”

Spock frowned. “Nyota, I highly doubt that the captain would hurry a diplomatic visit because of a romantic liason.”

Nyota actually laughed. “And I thought you knew him.”

The Vulcans were prompt. The diplomatic contingent appeared quickly with their vehicle. Nyota looked away from them as she ducked into the car. Spock said something softly in a dialect she did not recognize, and the contingent did not reply. He saluted him, they saluted him, and Nyota pressed the accelerator lightly.

Then, they were flying across New Vulcan, on their way.

x

stau, v. To put to death; to deprive of life; to put an end to; extinguish; to destroy a vitally essential quality of. Standard translation: kill. 

x

The noise began near Nal’kaya.

Nyota’s hands were just unclenching on the controls when Spock’s ears twitched slightly. Since he had been utterly still for the past two hours, in basic wh’ltri, or meditation, she noticed, and glanced over. He saw her move.

“Be calm,” he said. “It is nothing you should be concerned about.”

They veered into a bleached valley. Homes were half-built on the slopes, and the hum was loud enough to seem like a wasp sitting on your shoulder, just beneath your year. Nyota’s hands locked up again. There was a small group of children standing in a circle. They were young teenagers, maybe thirteen and fourteen. They were not meditating: their eyes were open. 

Nyota saw that Spock was watching them. “What are they doing?” she asked.

Spock pursed his lips slightly. The children slipped from view around a curve in the path. “They must vafer-tor, tabaku rik i’ki.”

“‘Recover their souls’?” she translated.

“We all must,” he said. 

x

naya, n. A low, sustained, mournful cry, usually indicative of great sorrow or pain. A lamentation. Standard translation: mourn.


End file.
